Regrets
by ImDreamingTheDream
Summary: A conversation between Campbell and Francine the day before Fergus' funeral. Contains mentions of slash, but nothing sexual.
**Regrets**

A Takin' Over the Asylum oneshot  
by ImDreamingTheDream

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 **Character Tags:** Campbell, Francine, Fergus **  
Genres:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance **  
Setting:** Between episodes 4 and 5; the day before Fergus' funeral to be specific **  
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Written because I shamelessly believe that Campbell loved Fergus. This story contains slash but is not sexual. If you don't like it, don't read it.

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Francine found Campbell in his room. He had been holed up in there for two and a half days now, and Nurse Collins had been bringing his medication to him directly. Francine had no idea if he'd taken the drugs voluntarily or by force, but she knew that either way he'd have to have taken them. Rosalie, who'd been round to check on him yesterday - not that she'd elicited much of a response - and had been told that Isabel had been bringing him his meals, all of which had gone untouched.

Francine usually wasn't one to try and coax the other patients out of catatonic or depressed states, having gone through countless periods of extreme withdrawal herself. Firstly, she felt that to do so was disrespectful, and secondly, she knew it was futile.

But desperate circumstances called for desperate measures, and that was how she found herself poking her head into Campbell's room. The first thing she registered was Fergus' bed, neatly made and empty. The second thing she registered was that somebody had pushed Campbell's bed up against the wall. The third and final thing she registered was Campbell himself, curled up in a ball on top of it.

Seldom had Francine ever seen the 19-year-old looking so vulnerable. His manic episodes had for the most part outnumbered his depressed ones, and even then this one was clearly particularly bad. Rolled into fetal position, Campbell's spine was curled at an unnatural angle. He had pulled on his oversized grey jumper despite it being warm for the time of year, and he'd kicked off his shoes, so that his feet wore nothing but his weathered black socks. His hands covered his head, and his overlong hair, which she could tell from a glance hadn't been combed in days, had clearly been playing host to his fingers.

"Campbell?" said Francine, haltingly. She edged towards the edge of his bed, and very ginerly sat down on it. Campbell did not acknowledge her. "Campbell?" Hesitantly she placed a hand on his shoulders. The teenager flinched but did not react otherwise.

Francine drew in a deep breath. "I just wanted tae let you know... Fergus' funeral is tomorrow. They're lettin' all of us go; me and Rosalie and you."

There was a long silence, and she was about to give up when a very quiet voice said, "Aye. I know."

Francine paused. "It's at one o'clock. Just after lunch."

Nothing.

She was about to leave when very slowly, Campbell unfurled and turned his head to face her. Francine had expected his faced to be flished and his eyes to be red and puffy from crying or something, but it looked like he hadn't cried at all. Instead his eyes had taken on a dull, almost empty expression, and his face looked rather pale. He continued unfurling until he was lying on his side, looking limp and helpless. He looked at Francine a long moment, then turned his head so that he was staring at Fergus' empty bed. Fleetingly Francine wondered if Campbell would ever be assigned a new roommate before he was discharged, and if the nurses might be cruel enough to assign him one. After all, John the Pyromaniac had had his room to himself since his own roommate had been discharged.

"I suppose I'll hafta wear that suit." Campbell's voice was little more than a weak whisper.

Francine nodded.

"The last one to wear it was Fergus for his interview." Campbell hesitated. "Fat lot of good it did him in the end, no?" When Francine didn't say anything, a first choked but dry sob escaped the 19-year-old. "And I suppose they willnae let me go unless I eat something. Have I missed dinner?"

"Aye. They just came round with the cocoa. You can have mine if you like." Francine set the small cup down on the bedside table. She paused. "Do you want me to go, Campbell?"

He shook his head, very slowly. So Francine settled down, lying down next to him. "Eddie's going too, by the way," she said.

When Campbell didn't say anything, Francine summed her courage and allowed herself to ask the question she'd not been brave enough to ask for a very long time. A question she'd wondered the answer to for almost three years, as long as Campbell had been a patient here. "Campbell? Did you ever kiss Fergus?"

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Francine had found out about Campbell not long after he'd been admitted to St. Jude's. He was the first patient she'd allowed herself to feel sorry for in her then-seven years of living in the hopsital. She'd detatched herself feelings of pity before she'd arrived, but Campbell was just 16 and from what she'd heard, had been commissioned by his parents, who for their part wanted to have little to do with him. Francine knew what it was to feel so cripplingly alone at that age, and she knew what it was like to receive no familial sympathy.

Campbell had been roomed with Fergus, and had for the past two weeks more or less taken to following Fergus around the ward like a lost puppy. It would be several weeks before the teenager would begin to open up to the rest of the ward; at this point he was quiet and Fergus was the only person he seemed to trust, and even then he said very little to him. Fergus for his part seemed to have taken an immense liking to the boy despite being eight years his senior.

Francine had found Campbell in his room one day when Fergus had gone on one of his escapades. The teenager had been standing in the middle of the room, and it seemed that Fergus' wardrobe had exploded over the floor. Campbell had been standing stone still, holding one of Fergus' T-shirts in his hands. Despite her usual doctrine Francine had stopped to watch him a moment. She'd assumed that he'd somehow been responsible for a wardrobe spillage and was unsure of how to clean it up, and had been about to offer to help when she saw Campbell doing something very strange. As Francine watched, Campbell had raised the T-shirt to his nose and breathed in deep, closing his eyes.

Despite herself, Francine had made herself known. "Campbell?"

He'd spun around and turned crimson. "Hello."

"What are you doing."

"I... uh... nothin'."

Oblivious, Francine had asked, "Did you open up Fergus' wardrobe or somethin' to make all the clothes spill out?"

A pause, then, "Aye."

She'd smiled. "Rule one: Fergus' wardrobe is always a right mess. You'll still be cleanin' up by the time he gets back." His eyes had widened and he'd dropped the T-shirt, stooping to gather an armload of clothes. Francine stepped into the room. "Here; let me help."

Campbell had eyed her warily for a moment, then nodded and moved aside to allow her access to the heap of clothes. While gathering up some clothes herself Francine had asked cheerfully, "What were you doin' sniffin' his clothes for?"

He'd said nothing, but when she'd looked into his face she'd been taken aback by his expression, which betrayed his "I dunno." His eyes had given him away, the way he'd clenched his fist almost defensively, the nervousness along with the unexpected tenderness in his face. Francine had stared at him a long time, then she'd asked, "... do you love him?"

A long pause, then, in an almost embarassed tone, "Aye."

Francine had studied him a moment, unsure of how to react. She felt a little embarassed herself. When she'd been wee, her mother had once told her that all queers oughta burn in hell. But she didn't think that about Campbell; she didn't think that about anyone except Uncle Frank. So all she'd said was,"Does he know?"

Campbell had slowly shaken his head.

"Are you no' going tae tell him?"

Another shake of the head.

"Why no'?"

Campbell had raked a nervous hand through his hair and said meekly, "I cannae lose him."

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"Campbell? Did you ever kiss Fergus?"

Campbell was still staring at the empty bed, his eyes still flat. There was such a long silence that for the third time Francine was about to get up and leave when the teenager gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Francine sat up and placed a nervous hand on his shoulder. "Did y'ever tell him?"

Another shake of his head. "I told you," said Campbell dully, "I couldnae have lost of him. I was scared he wouldnae... well, you know. I don't think he ever guessed. I was good at hiding it." Another very long pause went by before the 19-year-old rolled over to face Francine again.

"I've been good at hiding it for a long time now. When I was eleven, I was at the play park with some of the other kids. The boys were chasin' all the lasses tryin' to kiss them. I was there too, but I didnae want to chase any of the lasses. I chased and kissed a boy called Jamie that I thought was real pretty. He looked at me all funny and ran away. He musta told him big brother. The next day at school his brother and his friends used me as their punching bag when I was walkin' home. I didnae tell my da' why I was all bruised and bloody when I walked in the door. I told him I'd been fightin'. I was scared they'd spread rumours 'bout me, but they never did. They never even bothered me again, cos they told me to leave Will alone and I said that OK, I would. But I didnae tell them I still thought he was pretty, and that I liked kissin' him so much."

Francine sighed. "Did y'ever love another lad after him?"

"No. Only Fergus."

She didn't ask him if he believed he would ever love again. Instead, she blurted, "Do you wish you'd kissed him?"

Campbell nodded. "I havnae been able to think about much else. I wonder if I might ever have done it one day. But I don't think I would have." He faltered. "I donnae want a new roommate, Francine."

"They willnae give you one. Not for a while, anyway. Remember John the Pyromaniac has a single."

"Aye, but he sets the bedsheets afire," he said bitterly. "They donnae care, Francine. Maybe Isabel cares, but she hasn't got that authority." He paused. "I think I just want to be alone now."

"Aye." Francine stood up and made to leave but she stopped in the doorway. "But I think you'll have to come out tomorrow and eat your breakfast if you want them to give you a pass to come to the funeral tomorrow."

The teenager slowly sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. If it was possible he looked smaller than ever. "Fergus was the last one to wear that suit," he said again softly. "D'you suppose it might still smell like him?"

"Maybe a little."

"And... d'you suppose Eddie might let me drink some of his whisky at the funeral? I havenae ever felt anything like being downright pissed before."

Francine shrugged, she didn't know. All she knew was that there was no way the nurses would let Campbell drink from Eddie's omnipresent flask. "Are you going to have the cocoa?" When Campbell shook his head, she gave him a sympathetic smile. "Tell you what. I'll tell them it was you who had mine. They know I don't like it." She crossed the room again and picked up the Styrofoam cup. She drained the cocoa in one gulp, pulling a face. "There."

"Thanks," was all Campbell said softly.

Francine left then, but when she was passing by the room a little bit later, she caught sight of Campbell through his window. He had gathered the suit to his chest and was hugging it tightly, burying his nose in the fabric, and he was crying softly.


End file.
